


Don't Know Why You Say Goodbye

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baker Castiel, Bakery, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Charlie Ships It, Clumsy Castiel, College Student Dean, Cop Dean, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Openly Bisexual Dean, Phone Calls & Telephones, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t make anyone do anything; you’re the one who keeps coming back.”<br/>“So you do admit I’m fat.”<br/>Cas scoffs, uncovering a cloth to playfully hurdle at Dean, “God, you’re so dense.”<br/>“Well other than calling me fat and dense,” Dean jokes as another chuckle rises like fresh dough in the back of his throat, “You haven’t given me a reason not to. Come back, I mean.”</p><p>Or the one where I caved and wrote a bakery au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Know Why You Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much the only thing that got me through my first week back at college. I live for sexual innuendos and double entendres - especially when it involves these two idjits.

Don’t Know Why You Say Goodbye

 

They say the way to Dean's heart is through his Goliath of a stomach, and they would be correct—which is why Dean knows the number by heart.

_"Hello, you've reached Castiel's Creamery, home of the proverbial-free southern-style shoofly pie. If your name is Dean Winchester, stay on the line and your call will be directed to someone who can help you."_

"Dickhead.”

Dean can practically feel the weight of the man's smile on his shoulders.  _"How are you, Dean?"_

This has become a ritual of sorts. Dean talks, Cas cultivates. Cas crunches the numbers on a spare napkin like a true anarchist of the times and by the end of the week, runs the total on Dean’s card. His brother Sam, the nutritionist nut he is, assures he’s wrong, but Dean isn’t risking the chance of death by rabbit food.

Even though he's only seen the dorky little guy a handful of times in the last month, there's something in Cas’s balls-deep voice alone that's comforting. “As good as I can be. Morning classes are a killer; I don’t know how you made it out of college alive—with a _business_ degree, no less.”

 _“Amphetamines,”_ Cas jokes _, “lots of amphetamines.”_ The result of the _whooshing_ sound on the other end is most likely him switching ears to bag his famous pecan pie. “I added a dash of rum; you sound like you’re dragging more than just your ass today.”

“Hey now, I can’t be makin’ people walk the line if I’m not straight myself.”

Cas laughs—a raspy sound that reaches the deathly hallow of his throat it nearly doesn’t register over phone, _“Policemen: The most sexually repressed breed out there.”_

“Did I mention how _gay_ it is for a grown man to wear an apron that says ‘Kiss Me Where You Tip Me’?” There’s no venom in his tone, but there is an air of curiosity. Dean doesn’t have anything against gay dudes—that is, unless they’re not pressed against _him_.

But it isn’t like that. Well, not completely. Dean isn’t blind—Cas is hot. Dean mainly wants to get to know him better despite his hectic schedule.

_“Ah, so you acknowledge the apron, you just don’t follow through accordingly.”_

Dean’s not sure if that’s an invitation to bang him or tip him. Either way, his response has Dean smirking. “Cas,” Dean says, cradling his cell in both hands, “don’t ever change.”

 _“Hey, the only things that are allowed to get soft around here are my croissants,”_ Cas warns smartly. Dean’s sure there’s a wink attached to it he can’t see. _“Which, by the way, I included in your order, free of charge. Charlie will hand you your stuff on the way in.”_

“What would I do without you, man?”

_“Starve, probably.”_

“Shut up,” Dean grouses, turning a deep shade of pink. “I’ll swing by a few minutes.”

_“Bye, assbutt.”_

“Bye, dickhead.”

***

“Early bird really does catch the worm, huh?”

 _“Ugh, shut up,”_ Dean grumbles. _“Both of my classes got cancelled.”_

Cas leans against the counter trying to conceal a smile even though no one’s there to catch him red-handed. Seven in the morning isn’t an opportune time for customers—at least not until after they get their caffeine fix. Then business booms faster than the fifties. “So what’re you gonna do to pass the time?”

Dean hums in mock appreciation, _“Mm, I don’t know, ‘m kinda torn between going back to sleep and inhaling a fresh slice of pecan pie.”_

“ _Inhaling?”_ Cas queries, a cross between incredulous and plain dubious. “I have half of mind to show you how to really eat one of my creations.”

_“…it is fresh, right?”_

“Dean Winchester,”—Dean barks a laugh on the other end of the line—“I will have you know—”

Dean interrupts him before he can properly chew his ear off: _“See you in ten.”_

“Looks like someone’s churning butter after hours,” Charlie pipes in passing before he can properly rejoin. Not like Cas has anything to rejoin _with,_ seeing she’s right, even though he’ll give the girl a raise before he admits to it.

Cas is quick to toss yesterday’s pecan pie display and preheat the oven.

***

Pretty much every abiotic thing around Cas dies when he smiles due to oxygen deprivation. When Dean strolls through the door, the stray sketch marks crease around his plush mouth, revealing bright pink gums and peppermint white teeth. The both sweet and tangy spices that tickle his nose and the chime of the door are secondary perceptions to the hitch in his throat.

“Hey, assbutt.”

“Hey, dickhead,” he replies, striding up to the counter with long bowlegs.

Cas slides the pecan pie towards Dean. It’s a bigger piece than usual, extra flaky on the top, and bleeds molasses from the sides. There’s also a dollop of whipped cream splashed on the surface, which is new but certainly not unwanted.

He doesn’t realize how long Cas has been staring at him. Either he’s waiting for Dean to take the offered dessert or there’s something on his face (which would be apropos, seeing Cas has a streak of flour running down his temple). It probably has more or less to do with the blush fanning his cheeks.

He decides to let Cas stew in anticipation. He takes the teeniest bite, using his tongue as an Uber to deliver the salty-sweet taste to every inch of his crevice.

Cas’s blue eyes, alight with amusement, flicker to his lips. Dean breaks character, grinning around the fork.

“Early shift?” Cas inquires.

Dean glances down, the glint of his badge nearly blinding him. No wonder he takes night shifts. “Nah, I accidentally fell asleep in my uniform last night.” And I might be trying to impress you, he thinks wryly, gripping the base of his belt. “Big chase, took a whole squad to get the guy to stop running.”

“What was he running from?”

Dean shrugs, taking another bite of the gooey goodness in his possession. “The badge, probably. Didn’t even do anything wrong. I was just gonna tell him to use the crosswalk.”

“Damn.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cas says, throwing down a smirk. “I just hoped you were gonna get all KC and The Sunshine Band on me. You know, do a little dance, make a little love…”

“Get down tonight?” he laughs, scratching his head at the thought of seducing Cas. God, the things he’d do to make the hair stand up on the back of his unkempt neck. “Trust me; you couldn’t handle what’s underneath this for as much pie as you fill me with.”

“I don’t make anyone do anything; you’re the one who keeps coming back.”

“So you _do_ admit I’m fat.”

Cas scoffs, uncovering a cloth to playfully hurdle at Dean, “God, you’re so dense.”

“Well other than calling me fat _and_ dense,” Dean jokes as another chuckle rises like fresh dough in the back of his throat, “You haven’t given me a reason not to. Come back, I mean.”

Dean’s words turn the tips of Cas’s ears fuchsia. Charlie, Cas’s fiery redhead employee, busts through the back door, shoving Cas like an immobile freight train towards his destination. “Oh yeah, uhm, would you maybe want to sit down?” he sputters, nearly falling over a chair in the process. Dean can’t help but laugh.

He stays for breakfast _and_ lunch.

***

“Hey, assbutt.”

_“Hey, dickhead.”_

“I take it there weren’t any booty calls last night.”

Cas pictures Dean’s head falling like fresh sleet off a shingled rooftop. _“Shut up,”_ he mumbles, though as usual there’s no tenacity behind it. _“I, uh, wanted to add something to my order if that’s okay.”_

“Oh?” Cas asks, leaning against the glass display with a pen and paper. It’s not like he can’t remember the specifics of one order. Hell, he’s taken orders from here to Chinatown for a good portion of his life before he became an owner. It just gives him something to do—especially when he’s talking to someone as gorgeous as Dean. From grape-green eyes (seedless, of course) to caramel hair whipped like canned cream and a smile like a mango sliced in a neat crescent—“Alright. What can I do you for?”

_“I’ll take two of those lemon-honey cupcakes, and can you put whipped cream on the pie again?”_

Huh, lemon-honey cupcakes—his favorite. “Oh, well I mean I _can,_ it’s just that’s more of a dine-in option only. The whipped cream tends to get messy if I bag it—”

 _“Oh yeah, I’m eating in,”_ Dean says without a lick of hesitation. _“I got out of class a half hour early, so.”_

Cas closes his mouth before he catches fruit flies. “Oh. Okay, yeah, that’s totally cool.”

_“Uhm… really? I mean, are you sure it’s okay? You sound a little off.”_

“Yeah, sure,” Cas reassures, waving his hand to dispel the aroma of bullshit. Dean is ordering for two—which obviously means he has a date, he’s taken, or he’s soon to be taken. Not like Cas ever stood a chance, anyway. Dean’s way out of his league. “It’s just been a long week, I guess.”

Dean scoffs, _“Man do I hear that. Alright, you’ll know where to find me.”_

“Definitely,” Cas replies half-heartedly before hanging up.

And you’ll know where to find me, Cas thinks drearily: ten thousand leagues under the sea.

***

Dean knows he’s in Heaven when he walks into Castiel’s Creamery. Cas is undeniably his guardian angel, between the kind, starlit eyes and the long, sinewy body that makes it impossible _not_ to break any and all of the Commandments—the one that greets him at the Pearly Gates like a demoted Wal-Mart employee and—

Wait.

“Cas, hey,” he calls, jogging up to the counter where he’s hastily grabbing silverware, “are you—?”

The old-timey _ding_ of the oven cuts Dean’s query short. Cas thrusts open a drawer to retrieve his gloves and pull out a fresh pecan pie.

Except, it’s not. The pie still looks appetizing—minus the slightly charred crust. Cas never burns anything.

Cas dishes one piece onto a small plate and nearly tosses the rest into the display, making Dean cringe. “The cupcakes will be ready shortly, just one more—” Another _ding_. Cas still isn’t quite looking at him. “Perfect. Hopefully your friend doesn’t mind waiting a little, the honey needs time to cool.”

The way he says friend is almost an insult. Dean crosses his arms and looks to Charlie, who’s fiddling in the corner with a long string of dough, for any sign of life. But Charlie is just as lost as Dean, exchanging mixed glances between her boss and him.

“My what?”

Cas takes out a bowl, a fork, and a carton of eggs. Then, breaking three shells over the rim, beats the yolk until it’s grounded into stringy yellowy ash. “Your friend. I doubt a guy like you would eat so much. Wouldn’t want to screw up your girlish figure.”

“Uh, maybe I should take this to his table,” Charlie begins warily, but Cas is already shoving the bowl aside in favor of the cooled-off cupcakes.

“No, it’s fine,” Cas grumbles, rounding the corner with the two plates in hand, “’s not like I’m not capable of—”

However, the browns and yellows of the food decorate Dean’s shirt faster than it gets to the table. Cas is left standing inches from Dean, his face putting on a one-act play in a cherry tomato costume.

Cas has that same streak of flower running down his temple and smells like a hot cross bun and it’s enough for Dean to draw him by his nape and kiss him.

One thing’s for sure: He tastes better than any pecan pie.

“Hey, dickhead.”

Cas’s famous apron is permanently soiled, but Dean would say it’s lived up to its legend. Especially when the tip he leaves has Cas grinning like a dope. “Hey, assbutt.”


End file.
